


Bearcat

by The_Secret_Life_Of_Tea



Series: Novelties [4]
Category: Steam Powered Giraffe
Genre: ADHD headacnon, Autism, Autism Spectrum, Canon Trans Character, Family Feels, Gen, Rabbit is a sad sad bot, Till she isn't anymore, Trans Character, autism headcanon, autistic characters, neurodivergence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-18
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2018-12-31 06:13:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12126282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Secret_Life_Of_Tea/pseuds/The_Secret_Life_Of_Tea
Summary: Bearcat, definition: “A lively, spirited woman, possibly with a fiery streak.” Downloading definition from Thought Catalog… matching with personality traits… 100 percent match.Rabbit discovers some things about himself, but it’s a bumpy road along the way to understanding.





	1. Dark

**Author's Note:**

> New fic new fic new fic new fic

He’s in the dark. 

Not like Hatchy’s dark; no, it's not as prolonged. But it is just as oppressive. And sometimes, in the night, when all the stars seem to have gone away, Rabbit thinks to himself that his dark is worse, because it follows him around everywhere. He thinks it’s somewhere in his core, a little speck of dark that grows and shrinks as it pleases. He thinks of bringing it up to Pappy, but Pappy is in a hole in the ground and will never come back out; Ma told him so, and Ma never lies to him. 

He thinks it’ll never go away.

Tonight, the speck has grown into a splotch which has grown into a spill, a big oil slick in his chest. And it’s his chest that’s the problem, funnily enough. He stares at himself in the mirror, lipstick pilfered from one of the Walter worker’s purses smeared on his copper lips. It doesn’t look right. ...Or maybe he doesn’t look right.

Something inside his core shatters, and he hurls the lipstick at the mirror. It fragments, just like a robot’s broken heart, and something about that-- maybe it’s the poignance, maybe it’s the fact that he hasn’t powered down for stasis in a week-- starts him sobbing. 

It takes about thirty minutes to pull himself together (for the most part). The oil tears have stained his shirt, but it’s nothing that anyone would really notice; thank god for black shirts. The offending oil only shows up on the red collar, and it’s really only a few flecks here and there. He tugs the collar up, clutching the fabric in his hands. 

Ma sewed this for him. “What a handsome young man,” she’d cooed at him, straightening his collar with her deft fingers. Rabbit had loved her fingers, especially when they were caressing or cradling his face in them. He lifts his own digits and studies them. They’re long, like hers; not as long as The Spine’s, but still, they look just like hers. He knows because he saw Pappy use her hands as a mold for Rabbit’s.

At least part of him is made like it’s supposed to be.


	2. Exchanges

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :D

Rabbit grins at The Spine in front of the audience, taunting him. But The Spine knows something’s off… he's been hearing the bot walking about at all hours of the night, for whatever notion has caught hold of his head. He sighs shortly, rolling his eyes and letting off a showy stream of steam to the audience’s delight. And while they’re distracted, and Rabbit is busy waving the smoke out of his face, The Spine takes a second to study his older brother. 

His hip’s been audibly creaking lately--a sign of his exhaustion. What a creaking hip means for Rabbit is that he’s focusing on diverting his energy into other processes, like talking, walking, and of course, entertaining. 

Suddenly, Rabbit doubles over. It doesn’t look like one of his regular malfunctions; he coughs and coughs, and flurries of rust flakes flutter over his polished shoes. Next comes slimy, viscous oil from deep in his chest. The Jon gasps, fingers slicing through the strings of his bass. They break with a painful twang.

The Spine rushes to his brother’s side as Michael calls, “Show’s over, folks! We’re Steam Powered Giraffe!” The crowd isn’t too concerned--bots can break and no one cares much except for the odd devotee. It burns Michael up. He’ll rant and rant from dawn till dusk about how bots deserve rights, too, that they’re not just a bunch of brainless gears. When he winds down, he’ll apologize, and The Spine will give him a firm squeeze on the shoulder and let a sympathetic cloud of steam rise from his lips. 

But now isn’t the time to level glares at the backs of retreating humans and their cheap-at-best patronage (The Jon once checked the hat they passed round while busking and found two dimes and a nickel. Needless to say, Michael nor Steve had eaten that day). The Spine gathers up Rabbit to his chest, but the bot pushes at his hands angrily. 

“D-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-don’t touch me!” Rabbit cries. The band stops dead; no one says a word until The Jon strides over to Rabbit, takes his shoulders in his hands, and gives him a firm shaking. The Spine’s jaw drops.

“Listen here,” The Jon says, voice low. “You’ve been up too late and drinking too much. You hafta do what The Spine tells you an’ get better.”

Rabbit started to shake his head, but The Spine stepped forward. “Yeah, Rabbit. We’re gonna get you home.”

\---

The next day comes in a flash of words. The Spine’s stern baritone is the heaviest on Rabbit’s mind. He’d given a world-class scolding to Rabbit. Luckily, Rabbit managed to convince him that it’d all sunken in, and The spine was only moderately suspicious when he left Rabbit’s room that night.

The Jon’s words ring in his ears, too. He’d only said a few words, preferring to give a big hug to his big brother. His philosophy was that touch often conveyed what words sometimes couldn't. 

Michael and Steve were ready to open up Rabbit and see what was inside to cause him so much physical trouble, but he’d shooed the both off.

Funnily enough, Hatchworth hadn’t said much at all. He’d only asked Rabbit to come down to his room if he ever needed anything.

Now, Rabbit stands at Hatchworth’s door. “H-Hatchy?” He asks, voice small. Tucked under his arm is the world’s most beaten-up plush rabbit. Truth be told, it doesn’t even look much like a rabbit anymore, more like a lump of limp cloth. 

It’s Rabbit’s most prized possession. 

Hatchworth opens the door, a flask in hand. He looks more tired than Rabbit's ever seen, even compared to Ma’s face after Pappy died. 

He beckons Rabbit in, and closes the door behind him.


	3. Coping Mechanisms for Mechanical Men

Hatchworth gestures for Rabbit to sit on a carved oak rocking chair, stroking his chin quite gravely. Carving and whittling was Hatchworth's hobby of choice. He’d hack a tree down with an old iron axe--always kept to the sharpest point--and work the wood until he was satisfied. Many sunsets saw Hatchworth on his prized cherrywood chair, rocking back and forth to some rhythm in his server, knife in hand and stick whittled to shavings for his bellows. He could function without wood shavings, but he said that they were akin to potato chips. Sure, he could live without them, but why would he want to?

The bronze robot leans against the door, optics flicking up and down Rabbit’s hunched frame. “Rabbit, you don’t look so hot.”

Rabbit sighs, head bowed. “I don’t feel so hot, either, Hatchy.” Hatchworth nods a few times, thoughtful, then offers his flask.

Now, Rabbit is no stranger to drinking the occasional draught of low-filtered oil with The Spine. He’s over a hundred years old, for crying out loud, so he can have some if he likes, even if the Spine makes a face. 

But this stuff? It’s blacker than ink, and even taking a whiff of it burns Rabbit’s nose. He claps a hand over his mouth and stares at Hatchworth, who looks unconcerned. 

“Hatchy, is that refined?” Rabbit splutters, rubbing at his nose. 

“Yup, the purest percent I could find,” Hatchworth replies. He takes a long gulp of the oil, rubbing his mustache when he's done. “So, Rabbit. Talk to me.”

Rabbit hunches his shoulders. “U-um… I-I-I-I-I--” steam pours from his cheek vents as he overheats. Must be the stress causing it. A hand comes down on his shoulder, gentle.

“You don't need to talk if you'd rather not,” Hatchworth says, more serious than Rabbit’s ever seen him. Usually Hatchy is like a goofy uncle, but he seems more like a war veteran now. He remembers when he first saw him… a shiver rakes down his shoulders as Hatchworth pulls up another chair, this one made of darker wood. 

“Rabbit. Listen. Sometimes… sometimes you don't have to talk about it. Sometimes you just. Need to forget. Yeah? This stuff… this helps me forget for a time.” Hatchworth shakes the flask a little in the copper bot’s direction. 

Rabbit bites his lip. “Th’ Spine told me never to drink refined oil. He said ‘s bad.” Hatchworth harrumphs at Rabbit’s meek reply. 

“Well, what he doesn't know won't hurt him,” the bronze bot assures, and offers up the flask again. Rabbit doesn’t like the look in his eyes; he doesn't look anything like himself, and a part of him knows he should be worried, but a much larger part just wants to follow Hatchworth's advice and just lose himself in the pitch dark oil. 

So he lifts his hand to the flask and takes it, swallowing a few times before taking a careful little sip. It slides down his throat; he shivers a bit as the oil makes its way to his server, making things just a little bit fuzzier around the edges. 

Within the hour, they’ve each gone through a flask. Hatchworth is leaning back in his chair with a pipe tucked into the corner of his mouth. The scent of cherrywood burning away in the bowl of the artfully-crafted pipe relaxes Rabbit. 

He lets his eyelids droop, and all goes pleasantly dark.

\---

Rabbit wakes up to a great bellowing voice. “HATCHWORTH! What in the name of God did you give to him, and how much?!”

Hatchworth makes a drowsy little noise, the sound of metal hitting metal reverberates through the room, and there’s thirty seconds of silence before Hatchworth leaps on top of The Spine, fist crunching into the silver bot’s cheek harshly. Rabbit stares, slack-jawed and sleepy. 

Hatchworth shouts swears at The Spine, who holds his cheek and gapes up at the other bot. “Hatchworth! Calm down!” The Spine sounds scared for the first time in a long time, and even though his circuits are dripping with oil, making any movement complicated and clumsy, Rabbit gets to his feet and taps Hatchworth’s shoulder timidly.

“H-h-h-heeeeeeey, Hatchy,” he slurs. The bronze bot turns, enraged, before Rabbit hits the power down switch placed discreetly under his hat. Hatchworth slumps over.

Grinning, he turns to The Spine. “How’dya do, Spiney?” 

In his drunken state, he expects a pat on the back or even a hug for his bravery, but what he gets is The Spine standing, towering over him. That sobers him up pretty quick. He stammers out a few words: “I-I-I-- I didn’t… he…” but the Spine holds up a hand silently. 

When the silver bot finally speaks, his voice is harsh and furious. “Rabbit. Go to your room, this instant.”

Rabbit all but runs to his room, unwieldy gait almost resulting in a few falls. Once there, he sits on his bed, chest tight. Glory, what did he drink last night? His head is killing him… and he’s never seen his brother so mad. And for what, a few swallows of oil? Maybe The Spine shouldn’t be so uptight, he thinks sourly. 

A hand pushes the door open, shy. Rabbit looks up at the creak to see his littlest brother. The Jon stares for a second before shaking himself, climbing up onto the bed beside Rabbit. He curls into the copper automaton immediately. 

“Hey there, Jonnyboy,” Rabbit smiles, stroking his curls. The Jon is quiet. Sometimes he gets like this when everything is too hard to put into words. Well, Rabbit doesn’t mind. He loves his baby brother so much it’s almost painful.

He shifts to lay down, The Jon still clutching his shirt tightly. “‘S okay, little g-g-g-guy. D’ya need anythin’?” He feels The Jon’s head shake. “Okay, kid. I’m here if you de-decide you need somethin’.”

When The Spine comes in, Rabbit and The Jon are fast asleep. He smiles softly for a moment despite his anger, closing the door so they can get some shuteye before he talks with Rabbit.


	4. Hangover

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick little update to reassure you all! I’m not abandoning this, don’t worry. Been working on my rp blog lately @bigbotfamily.tumblr.com [There are some NSFW posts but they are under read mores, so you should be good!] and writing other things... and playing the new Nintendo Switch! It’s brilliant! 
> 
> I’m going to work on some SteamWorld fics; I have a lot of headcanons that need to be brought into this world, ahaha. :D

Chapter 5: Voice Box

The Spine is waiting for Rabbit when he wanders downstairs, squinting at the light with a pounding headache plaguing his server. The silver automaton’s arms are crossed and he looks more stern than Rabbit's ever seen him. He gestures wordlessly to the table.

“Good morning to you too,” Rabbit mutters, trying to shove past him. The big lug is right in front of the pot of oil, and Rabbit would love some strong stuff to wake him up. He finds himself being unceremoniously lifted, though, and all the kicking all flailing in the world can’t help him when The Spine’s gotten started. He plunks him right down on the uncomfortably wooden chair like one would a scolded child. Rabbit hops up, ready to curse him out or worse, but a hand shoved firmly to his chest sits him back down. 

“Are you out of your mind?” The Spine begins, looming over his older brother. “you were irresponsible, childish, selfish... then again, what’s new? You’re either gonna act your age, buckaroo, or I’m gonna have to treat you the age you’re acting.” Rabbit opens his mouth, but The Spine shushes him sternly. “You were stupid enough to follow a drunkard’s lead—“

“D-D-Don’t you call Hatchy a drunk!’ Rabbit cries. “He’s onto something, I didn’t have any bad dreams at all...”

“But you passed out and I bet you have a blinder of a headache,” The Spine retorts, and Rabbit scoffs... but doesn’t look at him.

The Spine nods. “Figured as much. So listen here... this is what’s gonna happen. You’re going to be in at eight o’clock every night this week so I can make sure you’re not getting into any trouble. And you’re bedtime will be the same as The Jon’s.”

Rabbit gaped at him in horror. “You mean ten o’clock?” 

The Spine nodded firmly. “And you’ll be going down for naps alongside him, AND you’ll not be allowed out unaccompanied by an adult.”

Rabbit just stared at him, eyes huge. “A-A-All I did was have a few drinks,” he stammered, and The Spine rose up, glowering at him. 

“Peter had to clean out your boiler. You were out for a week, you maverick,” he said, voice quivering with something that scared the heck out of Rabbit. “You’ve more than earned this.”

Hanging his head, Rabbit meekly took a cup of oil and sipped it. The Spine gave his shoulder a little squeeze as Jon bounded in, slamming into Rabbit with a resounding crash. 

‘Big brother!” he cheered, squeezing the life out of his brother. “I got worried! You weren’t waking up and The Spine said I had to leave you alone and Peter was scared and aaaah, I’m just glad you’re all better!”

Rabbit hugged his little brother tight, glaring up at The Spine. “At least someone cares about me,” he sniped, rubbing the little golden bot’s back. The Spine stared at his brother for a minute before abruptly standing, sending his chair back into the wall with a CRASH! He stalked out of the room, again with that expression that unsettled Rabbit immensely.


	5. Conversation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still here!!! Don't you frens worry; I've just been busy with college. Here is a small update. More to come soon!

The Spine is waiting for Rabbit when he wanders downstairs, squinting at the sunlight pouring through the window irritably. He has a pounding, horrific headache plaguing his server. The silver automaton’s arms are crossed and he looks more stern than Rabbit's ever seen him. He gestures wordlessly to the table.

“Good morning to you too,” Rabbit mutters, trying to shove past him. The big lug is right in front of the pot of oil, and Rabbit would love some strong stuff to wake him up. He finds himself being unceremoniously lifted, though, and plonked into a chair. 

“You’re gonna listen and you’re gonna listen well,” The Spine begins, but Rabbit still isn’t in the mood. “Why don’t YOU listen, ya big lugnut—“ 

The Spine leans in until their noses are almost touching. “Shut. Up.” 

Rabbit falls silent instantly, hunching in on himself. “Okay, okay, okayokayokay. Fine. Talk.”

The Spine spoke after a long moment, and his voice was broken. “You can’t be doing this sort of thing, Rabbit. You’ll kill yourself before long, and then where we will be? Jus’ me, Jonny, Hatchy, Zero, and Upgrade? That’s no life…” he trailed off, gathering himself and wiping his tears away. 

When he spoke again, his voice was stronger. “You are forbidden from drinking.”

Rabbit gaped at him. “I-I-It was only one bottle,” he protested… but The Spine shook his head. 

“That bottle would turn into two, then three, then four… soon you’ll be as bad as Hatchy. We need to get you both away from the bottle and doing better things.” Rabbit was sulking, arms crossed even as The Spine came over and kissed his forehead. “It’s for your own good,” he soothed. Rabbit just turned away, and he gave an aggravated sigh. “Fine. Be like that. No TV, no going out, no nothing for today. I want you in bed napping in an hour, and if I don’t find you there, there’ll be trouble.”

With that, he turned and strode away. Rabbit watched him go, biting his lip.

An hour later, he was tucked into bed, a scowl on his face.


End file.
